


I could stay right here and burn in this all day

by EponineTheStrange (gallifreyandglowclouds)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (that last tag is a bit redundant given the exchange), Blindfolds, Bottom Louis, Exhibitionism, Friends to Lovers, M/M, a super teensy mention of Ziam but they're not really in the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyandglowclouds/pseuds/EponineTheStrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis meet in a coffeeshop, and then they end up being kind of married without meaning to be, and then they have sex. The end. </p><p>(A coffeeshop AU that became a university AU that devolved into PWP.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I could stay right here and burn in this all day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PermanentVacationMalum (SomeOverratedFics)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeOverratedFics/gifts).



Louis makes a pro-con list for the cafe where he’s doing his marking at the minute, scribbling on the back of a paper copy of an essay (he figures, if his student wants it back, then they can ask him for it, and he’ll print the last page out again, just for them), and it looks something like this:

_Cons:_

_-    no wifi_

_-    full of old people who won’t let me share their table, and thus left me standing for twenty minutes, awkwardly holding a cup of tea and waiting for someone to leave_

_-    tea is expensive_

_Pros_

_-    quiet_

_-    the students don’t seem to have discovered it yet, so I don’t risk running into one of my undergrads, which is always good_

_-    the very pretty barista who keeps giving me refills on my tea and not asking for any money in return, apparently_

_-    it’s not my broom closet of an office and doesn’t have my coworker who tries to watch porn while pretending I don’t notice_

_-    did I mention the pretty barista?_

He figures he’ll be back there again a few times, or at least until he can get the phone number of the - he’ll feel lecherous if he’s hitting on an undergrad, because he should be done with that now that he’s big and important and doing his PhD, so he’s going to call him a master’s student - that’ he’s been mooning over all afternoon. Louis has a thing for curls, and this boy has them in spades, and he’s been desperately wanting to run his hands through his hair since he saw those curls poking out from under a beanie on a change of shift.

He sighs. He can’t afford all this creepy staring, because he’s got ten more essays to mark and a dissertation to write. He flips past the title page of another essay, which will not be different in style or substance to the three he’s marked this afternoon. He kind of loses himself in it - impressive, he thinks, because it’s an first year history essay about Charles V, which is not the most interesting of topics, even in modern history, and doesn’t even notice that there’s someone sitting across from him until that someone gently rattles the cup and saucer he’d placed on the table.

Louis looks up, deer in the headlight eyes (he’s sure), and he’ll be damned (or fucked, he’d take either), it’s the really pretty barista, who is either going to tell him off for being a giant creep or give him his phone number. Louis is really pulling for the latter, but acknowledges that this is an imperfect world, and that what he’s hoping for is quite improbable.

“Can I borrow a pen?” He asks. Louis nods, and fishes around in his briefcase for one. He produces a kind of embarrassing one - a pink number with hedgehogs on it that he stole from his sister the last time he went home.

The barista produces a receipt from his pocket and starts scribbling on it. “You know, if I comped every cute boy who came in here their tea, I’d probably be broke by now,” he says, “but I think for you, I can make an exception.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, not entirely sure how to respond. Things have taken a turn for the weird but possibly wonderful. He hands Louis the receipt with a smile on his face. There’s a mobile number scribbled at the bottom.

“Harry,” the barista says, extending his hand across the table.

“Louis,” he replies, shaking Harry’s hand.

* * *

 

So it all began in a little cafe, tucked away in a little corner of Edinburgh in late September, and where it gets to by December is that Louis doesn’t sleep in his apartment much anymore, though he does pay his rent on time (even though Zayn keeps offering to give him a little bit of a break, given that he’s almost never there), and spends a lot more time camped out on Harry’s couch. There are no possible cons to staying with Harry, because he’s quiet, he’s single with no roommates, he can cook, and his parents own the flat that he lives in, and give him a break on utilities, so he can have the heat on at his discretion. He and Harry are in that sort of funny and awkward territory between friends and lovers, because what Louis would really like to do is ride Harry while watching Love, Actually, but he really isn’t sure how to broach the subject. He knows that Harry hasn’t brought anyone home since like, October, and that, for Louis, is pretty satisfying, because he gets super possessive of Harry in ways that he isn’t sure is appropriate for friends, but also, he’s met Harry’s family, and that’s not something most dudes who hit on Harry in a bar could possibly brag about.

He offered to go home for a few days, because Harry is in a critical bit of his dissertation and Louis didn’t want to distract him, knowing what a pain in the arse writing these things can be, but then he comes down with some horrible flu-fever-awful infection, and Harry basically bundles him up and makes him soup and is caring in a way that makes Louis’ stomach do backflips.

Louis is almost over his illness, but he’s still taking full advantage of Harry’s nursing, so he’s curled up on the couch watching something terrible but vaguely Christmas-themed on TV. Harry taps him on the shoulder, and Louis sits up so he can sit beside him. Louis pauses the TV.  
“How can I help you, Harry dear?”

“Just wanted to say a quick goodbye before heading off to a meeting with my supervisor,” Harry says. He’s always a bit wound up before these meetings, because his supervisor makes him nervous, and Louis tries to take it upon himself to make him feel a little bit better

“Hey,” Louis says, leaning in towards Harry a little bit, “you’re going to be brilliant, okay? Just brilliant, like you always are.”

“Really?” Harry says, mouth quirking up into a smile.

“Yeah,” Louis says, nodding, heart in his throat.

What happens next is a bit confusing, and one of those (un)fortunate times where Louis’ heart got a little bit ahead of Louis’ head, because he leans in and kisses Harry.

Oh dear.

It’s brilliant, and Harry seems to be game for it as well, wrapping one arm around Louis’ waist to pull him closer. It’s chaste but warm, and Harry’s circles raise goosebumps on Louis’ skin as they trace little circles through his ratty old t-shirt. They pull apart slowly, Louis resting his forehead against Harry, eyes still closed.

“Shoot,” he whispers, pulling back slightly, “I’m - I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“Don’t be,” Harry says. “I mean, you don’t need to be.”

“Oh,” Louis says, a little shocked but a little excited. Oh cannot begin to encapsulate how he’s feeling, how he feels about kissing Harry and then also discovering that Harry seems pretty happy to kiss him too. “You too?”

Harry nods.

“Ah,” Louis says. It’s like all the little puzzle pieces inside his head have fallen together. The fact that Harry hasn’t been bringing people home? Letting Louis sleep on his couch? Take over a drawer in his cabinet? It’s been staring Louis in the face for the past three months, and he’s only now noticed.

(They’ll have a lot of time to make up for.)

“I, uh, need to go to my meeting,” Harry says, voice breathless, “but I’ll be back in about ninety minutes, alright?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, nodding. He’s been reduced to monosyllables for the moment. So much for Mr. Erudite PhD man.

Harry goes to put on his jacket and shoes, slamming the door behind him when he leaves.

* * *

 

Louis paces (literally paces - who does that anymore?!) for about twenty minutes after Harry leaves. It’s the best way to a) collect his thoughts and also b) work off the adrenaline runing through his system, because even ten minutes after Harry’s departure, his hands are still shaking. He sits down and tries to think through a cogent plan of action:

  1. _???????_
  2. _!!!!!!!!!!!!!_
  3. _?!?!?!?!?!_



That’s about as far as he gets.

When Harry gets home, Louis is lying on the couch staring up at the ceiling, hands folded on his chest. Harry kicks off his shoes, tosses his jacket (Louis is surprised at that, because that brown wax jacket is like, the pride and joy of Harry’s existence) and comes bounding into the living room. He half-falls, half-clambers on top of Louis, bracing his legs on either side him, and kisses Louis furiously.

“Okay,” Louis says, panting, when they break apart, “I think I get it.”

“Oh?” Harry says, hair falling in his face, cheeks red and lips wet. “I mean, if there’s anything you’re unclear on, I could do that again.”

Louis never actually expects people to follow along with his slightly ridiculous lines during sex. (It’s why he’s pretty quiet when he’s getting fucked, ninety-nine percent of the time.) “You know, Mr. Styles, there might be some things I’m a little unclear on.”

He kisses Harry again, messy and wet and wonderful, and Louis rolls his hips against Harry as best he can. Harry moans into his mouth and tightens his hands in Louis’ hair, pulling slightly. He tries nobly to get a bit of rhythm going, and Harry responds enthusiastically, rutting up against Louis’ leg. They make out like this (Louis feels like a teenager, doing this, but he actually misses it because being close to Harry like this is the greatest thing) for a few minutes, until Louis can feel a slight bulge against his thigh, and both he and Harry are breathing heavily.

“Harry,” he says, voice thick and cautious, “are we going to -“

Harry nods and licks his lips. “If you’d like.”

Well, it’s a lot for one afternoon. (And Harry’s hung like a goddamn horse, which Louis happens to know because he likes to walk around half-naked and is terrible at tying towels. But he can take it, he thinks.)

“Yeah,” Louis says, nodding. “I think I would.”

“How?” Harry asks.

“Hmmm,” Louis says, debating whether he should tell Harry about his long-standing fantasy about riding him while watching Love, Actually, and then decides fuck it, he might as well, because he’s going to end up with Harry’s dick up his ass in not too long so he ought not to keep secrets, “I always had this vision in my head of riding you while we watched Love Actually.”

Harry laughs, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder, breath tickling Louis’ neck.

“You’re not serious?”

Louis nods. “Course I am.”

“I don’t own that DVD.”

“Well, I was going to get it for you as a Christmas present,” Louis says, indignantly.

“And put the moves on me while watching it?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Oh Christ,” Harry says, “there was a moment where I thought you might not be as big of a idiot as I am, but apparently, we’re on the same level of cheesy.”

“Really?” Louis says. “What was your plan?”

“Oh,” Harry says, “Romantic dinner. Something like that. I’m pretty sure there were going to be rose petals and candles involved.”

It’s Louis’ turn to laugh. “Okay, yeah, that’s pretty dumb.”

“Especially when all it would have taken was a quick kiss before your dissertation meeting.”

Harry nods.

“Speaking of,” Louis says, because he’s getting a little impatient, now that they’re well on their way to fucking, “it’s been lovely chatting, but can we get on with it?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, and sits up. “My pleasure.”

Louis slips into Harry’s lap, and works his fingers under the hem of Harry’s t-shirt. He traces roughly along the laurel tattoos on his hips, which Louis thought were kind of stupid at the time, but now his mind is filling up with all sorts of delightful things he can do with them. (All of these involve his mouth.) He throws his own t-shirt off as well, and it lands somewhere on the floor with a soft plop. It’s been too long since he last kissed Harry, so he leans in again and Harry responds in kind, opening his mouth under Louis’ and tracing his fingers along the small patch of exposed skin between his t-shirt and his sweatpants. His fingers send sparks along Louis’ skin, and he gasps quietly against Harry’s mouth. Harry slides Louis’ shirt up and over his head, and runs his thumb gently over Louis’ nipple, looking up at Louis. He lets his head drop back and sighs a little.

“All good, babe?” Harry asks.

“Yeah,” Louis nods. “ ‘m just - quiet, that’s all.”

“ ’S fine,” Harry says. He smiles, and continues, “So lovely, Lou.”

He kisses Louis again, and hooks his fingers on the waistband of his track pants and starts shimmying them off his hips. Louis lifts himself off Harry for a moment, and lets him get his trousers down, but they’re caught at his ankles.

“Shit,” Louis mutters, and kind of awkwardly shimmies beside Harry so he can get his trousers and pants off.

“We are a fucking mess,” Harry says, shaking his head.

Louis rolls his eyes, and undoes the buckle of Harry’s belt and shoves his trousers off his hips. It’s a bit more difficult than Louis would have liked to admit, because Harry wears his jeans somewhere between really tight and painted on, but he manages it, while Harry watches, bemused.

“You’re such an asshole, watching me struggle like this,” Louis says, shaking his head and leaning over Harry, “and to think I was going to suck your cock.”

He’s really terrible at talking dirty. Harry doesn’t seem to mind, though, and pushes his pants off. Louis slips off the couch and divests Harry of the rest of his clothes, and settles between his knees. He kisses and licks along Harry’s laurel tattoos, sucking a love bite at the base of one. Harry groans and threads his hands through Louis’ hair.

Louis forms a loose fist around the base of Harry’s cock, and takes the head in his lips, swirling his tongue around it. Harry moans and pants, trying to restrain himself from thrusting up into Louis’ mouth. His hips snap up slightly, which earns him a warning smack on the hips.

He tightens his lips and takes Harry’s cock in his mouth, sliding his lips down to meet his hand, and works his hand and his mouth in tandem. Harry’s voice becomes more and more desperate as Louis works him up, fingers loosely threading through his hair. He’s braced back against the couch as far as he can go, head tossed back against the wall. Louis pauses, long enough to take him in, and how wonderful Harry looks then, flush spreading down his neck to the top of his chest, panting heavily, hair matted to his forehead with sweat. Harry is fucking beautiful generally, and it should not surprise Louis that he looks it when he’s getting his cock sucked too.

Harry looks down and Louis and smiles absently. “Looked so good taking my cock, baby. Can’t wait to see what it looks like when I’m fucking you.”

Right, there’s that bit as well, and suddenly, as much as Louis wants to blow Harry, he realizes he’d honestly rather get fucked.

“Haz,” Louis asks, “d’you want me to keep going?”

Harry shakes his head. “Gimme a sec.” He disappears off down the hall, and Louis shrugs and hops up on the couch. Harry reappears a few seconds later with a bottle of lube and a condom, which, oh yeah, they would need for the sex thing to happen. Good thinking, Harry.

Louis settles back against the arm of the couch and opens his legs as Harry slicks up one of his fingers. Louis absently plays with his nipple, hissing and instinctively pinching himself as Harry works one finger inside him.

One isn’t a lot of pressure and Harry’s got two working against his prostate in no time. Louis wraps his other hand around his cock, more to relieve pressure than to touch himself. Harry presses a quick kiss to his cockhead, making Louis draw his legs back and squeak in a somewhat undignified manner. Harry works three fingers inside him, then, drawing breathy moans out of Louis whenever he scissors his fingers against his prostate.

“Love your voice,” Harry whispers. “You sound so pretty, Lou.”

Louis lets out a shaky breath as Harry withdraws his fingers, clenching around nothing. He feels empty and bereft of touch, and shivers.

Harry sits down beside him, working on the condom, and Louis sits up slowly, arousal clouding his brain, and works himself into Harry’s lap, his back to Harry’s chest. Harry smooths his hands over Louis’ bum, and presses kisses to his back and shoulder as Louis adjusts himself so he can sink down on Harry.

The stretch and burn of Harry’s dick makes Louis hiss as he sinks down, and the fact that Harry slips a finger in beside his cock - something about ‘making it easier’, though that’s probably just the sex talking - takes the air out of Louis’ lungs like he’s drowning, but he doesn’t feel like ever surfacing again. He sits for a moment, perched on Harry’s cock, just to fully adjust, and he loves the way that Harry splits him apart as though he’s never going to be put back together.

Harry groans, runs his hands up and down the sweat-slick skin of Louis’ sides, and tucks his head on top of Louis’ shoulder, kissing and biting at his neck. Louis leans forward, just so Harry can look but not touch, fucks himself a little on Harry’s cock, and, encouraged by the high noise and squeeze of hands from Harry, keeps going.

“Fucking brilliant, babe,” Harry whispers, and fuck if Harry’s voice, deeper than usual, sounds as wrecked as ever, and Louis suddenly has this terrible yet wonderful image in his mind of Harry just wanking him while talking about Renaissance love sonnets, and he’d probably come just from that. (Shit. He really ought to mention this one to Harry, because he’d totally go for that sort of thing.) “So tight around my cock.”

Louis pants and whines a little, fucking himself faster, sparks flashing across his vision when he gets the angle just perfect, and feels little sparks dance over his skin while Harry’s hands roam across his body, resting on the curves of his arse. Louis has this terrible, nay, wonderful thought that for the first time in too damn long, he’s probably going to come untouched, Harry fucking up into him. Brilliant.

“Lou,” Harry whines, “need to feel you-“ and the hands on his arse slip to his hips and tug him back, just a little, but Louis gets the message and leans back into Harry, back to chest, and moans quietly at the way Harry’s skin feels against his.

“Let - let me,” Harry pants, “let me take care of you, babe.”

Yeah, that’s great, that’s good and fantastic, practically what Harry had been doing for the past couple of days, because that’s what Harry wants, what Harry needs, and if it means that his hips still snap up and leave Louis just going along for the ride, then so be it. (He’s not opposed to the idea in the least.)

He keeps resisting the urge to touch his own cock, hard and leaking against him, just to relieve the pressure that’s building in his pelvis, but it seems that in addition to basically knowing how to take Louis apart, Harry can also read his mind, because Harry wraps a hand around Louis’ cock, moving slowly instead in contrast to the frantic pace of their hips slapping together.

“Wanna come, baby?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Louis sighs, and catches himself at the way his voice is so high and broken, which he’d usually be embarrassed about but is too far gone to care at this point.

“Alright, babe,” Harry says, and then Louis fucks himself down in earnest, and it’s five, six strokes later that he comes with Harry’s hand around his cock (he’s going to have to try the untouched thing some other time, but they’ll have time to make it work, he’s sure) and sparks clouding every rational thought out of his brain, leaving behind a haze of harryharryharryharryharry. He collapses back against Harry’s chest, bracing himself against his steady warmth, panting he shoots come all over his torso.

He keeps on fucking down on Harry’s cock, rocking his hips against him, until Harry comes with a snap of his hips and a groan, and then it’s just the two of them, snuggled up tight against each other on the couch.

Louis slips off Harry’s dick, and ties off the condom with great grace. He tucks it in the wastebasket beside the couch, and then slips back into Harry’s lap, clinging to him like a limpet. Harry’s fingers card through Louis’ hair, and he kisses his face slowly, like he’s trying to get all his senses back. Louis too is clouded by his post-orgasmic haze, and there’s a little nagging voice somewhere in the back of his head that’s telling him that they’re going to get cold, that they’ve made a terrible mess, but Louis mentally tells that little voice to just fuck right off.

“So good,” Harry whispers reverently. “How’re you doing, Lou?”

“Awesome,” he breathes. He feels like he’s glowing, like Harry’s the sun and he’s just basking in his rays.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry whispers again, like he’s going to break something by speaking out loud, and Louis blushes, feels the flush light up his cheeks, at such a lofty compliment.

“Haz,” he says quietly, “you’re just brilliant, you know that?”

Harry smiles against Louis’ neck.

They do eventually make it to the bedroom, where Louis eats Harry out for the first time, takes him apart all over his pristine sheets (well, they’re going to have to wash those tomorrow, which Louis gives approximately zero fucks about), and then Harry fucks him again, Louis’ legs wrapped around his waist as Harry thrusts into him, slow and steady.

All in all, not a bad beginning.

* * *

 

_To: Harry_

_Nearly came in my trousers in front of my undergrads_

_From: Harry_

_!!!!!!!_

_From: Harry_

_wish i cld hve seen u_

_To: Harry_

_bet you do_

_To: Harry_

_bit embarrassing though_

_From: Harry_

_when u home 2day?_

_To: Harry_

_by 4 pm_

_From: Harry_

_i’ll be waiting_

_To: Harry_

_you best be_

 

So now it’s May, a whole six months later, and Louis and Harry are disgustingly happy together. Like, Zayn rolls his eyes at them, even though Louis has pictorial evidence of his being wrapped around Liam’s little finger, but still, if Louis were an outside observer, he might tell him and Harry to chill.

There are, however, perks of being with Harry, because he’s a great cook and cleaner, and will do sexual favours without being asked, like slipping in between Louis’ legs for a quick blowjob when he gets bored of watching the Premier League on Saturday afternoons. It is Louis, however, who gets Harry drinking proper Yorkshire Tea, and proofreads his dissertation as he’s writing it, with occasional inspiration provided in the form of naughty snapchats and stealth hot chocolate deliveries while he’s in the library. It’s a give and take type of thing.

Anyways, six months of practiced monogamy (along with clean STD tests, because Louis takes this type of thing seriously) means that one of the things they can stop sharing is condom duty, and for the first time that morning, with Louis on his stomach, cock rubbing against the sheets, Harry came inside him (10/10, would recommend) and then decided, because he’s a little shit, to plug Louis full of his come. Well, it’s not like Louis said no, or anything. Actually, he was fully on board with the whole idea, even insisted that they use the green one because it’s his favourite and it went with the shirt he’d planned on wearing that day anyways, until he shifted just a shade during a tutorial about revolutions throughout history, and nearly came in his goddamn trousers. The worst part - his undergrads definitely knew. One of them smirked. One asked if he was okay.

Once he’s back in his office, he palms his cock in his jeans and shifts slightly in his chair. It’s not like Harry said that he couldn’t come today, and it’s not like that wouldn’t be a natural consequence of being plugged full of his boyfriends’ come. He leans back, groaning as the plug shifts inside of him, and then thinks ah, fuck it, and gets up to lock his office door. Greg is teaching for the next couple hours, so he won’t be back to disturb Louis for a while.

He settles back in his chair, pulling down his trousers and pants until they’re around his ankles, and then wraps his hand around his cock and starts wanking himself, slowly at first.

It’s not a distinct image that pops into his head first - it’s a series, starting with Harry’s decision to put a mirror at the foot of his - their, really - bed, which Louis originally thought had something to do with the fact that there wasn’t a mirror in there, but actually had everything to do with Louis being able to see himself when riding Harry, then the time that Harry ate him out in his childhood bedroom one early morning while he was visiting during the holidays, Louis moaning his orgasm into the pillows, and then in early January, back in the flat, when he finally got to ride Harry while watching Love, Actually, every bit as good as he’d imagined that it might be.

He feels his balls draw up, and fucks down on the plug in that _ohgodrightheresogood_ place, and comes all over himself with a gasp and a shiver. It might make the day a little easier, but nothing will really be alright until he can see Harry later.

* * *

 

Harry isn’t home when Louis gets there, so so much for the I’ll be waiting gambit from earlier. Asshole. Louis kicks off his shoes and drops his backpack in the vestibule, then skips his traditional post-tutorial day snack and drops back on the bed. His face has been flushed all day, which he tried to explain away to his friends and colleagues as overdressing for the weird early May heat (which, like, it’s Scotland, so it’s fourteen degrees outside, but Louis has seen literal flip flops today), but really it’s because he’s so hot, just thinking about what’s inside him and what would be coming that evening.

He strips out of his clothes and lies back on the cool sheets, a sharp contrast with his own warmth. He taps the base of the plug, rocking his hips, and lets out a quiet moan. Louis looks up just enough so he can see himself in the mirror, see his hole stretched out around the plug, and drops his head back onto the pillows. One hand comes to his cock more out of instinct than actual desire for release, though his cock is fattening against his stomach. He closes his eyes, arches his back off the cool sheets, then lets himself relax for a moment. He thinks he’s alone, thinks that he’s got a while to play with himself, get himself all wound up, except then he hears Harry clear his throat from their bedroom door.

“Thought you weren’t home, babe,” Louis says, not opening his eyes. He hears footsteps come across the creaky floor of the bedroom, and then the mattress shifts as Harry climbs onto the bed. Louis reaches out, eyes still closed, and feels the towel wrapped around Harry’s hips.

“Just having a shower,” Harry whispers. “Didn’t hear you come in at first. Could have just watched you play with yourself for hours.”

God, how did Louis end up with such a dolt? An adorable dolt, mind you, but a dolt nonetheless. And a dolt who is very good at making Louis feel hot just by tracing his fingers over his skin. Must be the anticipation.

Louis opens his eyes so that he can undo the fold keeping the towel on Harry, watches it fall away and traces his hands over the newly exposed skin. Harry’s still a little damp from the shower, skin slightly cold to the touch but still soft and glowing in only a way Harry could manage. Harry leans in and captures his lips in a searing kiss, and Louis sighs contentedly, not just because he can rut up against Harry’s cock with his own and tear all these little desperate sounds out of him, but also because wants to feel Harry’s skin on his, misses it even if he has to go three or four hours without his touch.

Harry taps on the base of the plug, making Louis jump.

“Can I take this out now, babe?” He asks.

Louis nods. Harry removes it slowly, stroking the inside of Louis’ thigh gently as he does. He tosses it off somewhere to the side - damned if Louis knows where - and crawls back on top of him again, leaving little light kisses along his collarbone.

“Babe,” Louis asks, groaning quietly as Harry sucks a bruise on to his neck, just out below the collar for most of his shirts (he hopes), “you think you could blindfold me?”

Harry’s head shoots up in surprise. No, it’s not something they’ve done a ton of times, but Louis loves it, loves giving himself over completely to Harry like that. He trusts the boy.

“Yeah,” Harry says, enthusiastically, reaching over to the nightstand. They have a few scarves (and a pair of scissors) just for that purpose. He picks the red silk one out of the drawer, and Louis lifts his head up so that Harry can tie it over his eyes.

“Good, babe?” He asks once he’s done. Louis flashes a thumbs up in what he hopes is Harry’s general direction.

“Alright,” he says. “You know the word if you want it to come off.” (It strikes Louis as a little ridiculous to have a safeword for this, but you can never be too careful, he supposes.)

Louis rests his hands under his head while Harry kisses down his body, spreading the kisses across his torso just enough so that he doesn’t know where it’s going to come next. Louis’ hips jump when Harry runs his tongue along the laurel there - something that’s just a little treat for him - and then Harry gets his mouth on Louis’ cock.

Harry has a ridiculously talented mouth (figures, since the rest of him is pretty damn great too) and sure, Louis was half hard before this all started, but Harry has him whimpering and shaking and ready to break apart in approximately - well, he’s not going in to that because it would be embarrassing and too indicative of how gone he is for Harry.

“Fuck, Haz,” he groans. “Gonna come.”

Harry redoubles his efforts then, and is rewarded with Louis’ come down his throat. He hears Harry gag slightly and tries to pull away a bit.

“You good?” Louis asks as Harry sidles up beside him. “Coming to you, babe.”  
“Mhmm,” Harry says, spooning beside him. “Couldn’t be better. What now, Boo bear?”

“Ah,” Louis says, brain still a little post-orgasmically foggy, “can’t decide.”

“Could fuck you like this,” Harry whispers. “Fill you up with my come again.”

Oh, jesus.

“Yeah,” Louis says, nodding eagerly. “That’d be great.” His cock stiffens again at the thought of Harry filling him up again so soon. It’s not a memory he wants to forget, like, ever.

He hears Harry open the nightstand again and grab the lube. “Wanna make sure you’re open enough, okay babe?”

Yeah, sure, or maybe it’s just that Harry knows he can bring Louis to the edge with just his fingers, have him become a panting, writhing mess.

Harry starts quick, with two slicked up fingers in Louis’ arse. Lous groans, turns his face into the pillow, Harry rubbing soothing circles on his back as he fingers him. The intensity on everything goes up by a thousand percent when he can’t even see what Harry’s doing, or catch the impish little grin that spreads across his face every time that he knows he’s going to get Louis’ prostate with his fingers. Harry’s breathing is quickening behind him, and Louis knows that he wants more intensely than anything at this moment, but still always takes the time to make sure that Louis is languid and ready to be fucked before he goes on.

(He really loves Harry, doesn’t say it nearly enough.)

“Fuck, Haz,” Louis grits out, as he adds a third finger, “love you like this, love you taking care of me. So fucking awesome.” He turns his head towards Harry, who kisses him sweetly as he scissors his fingers inside of Louis. (There’s some kind of weird contrast there that Louis can’t quite articulate, but seems quite funny to him in the moment.)

“ ‘m ready, Haz,” Louis says, a tinge of impatience in his voice.

“Yeah? Want my cock?” He asks, withdrawing his fingers. Louis clenches around nothing, and nods vigorously. He hears a few wet noises as Harry slicks himself up, then he fits himself behind Louis, chest to back, and slides his hand under Louis’ knee to lift his leg up.

Louis always feels like the wind gets knocked out of him when Harry fucks up into him, because he’s so huge and sometimes Louis worries whether he can take him or not, but he always goes slow and easy, so by the time he’s bottomed out Louis feels like he might be kind of adjusted.

“Fuck,” Louis says as Harry bottoms out. “You - you good, Haz?”

Harry nods, pressing a kiss to Louis’ neck. “So good, don’t want to be anywhere else but with my best boy right now. So good for me, Lou.”

Their skin slides together evenly as Harry fucks into him, changing up the depth of his strokes so that Louis can’t quite put together an even rhythm. He sobs, louder than usual, but this is what Harry does to him, makes him feel open and safe all at once, and he wants to feel everything, from the stretch and burn around Harry’s cock to the gentle kisses that Harry leaves on his shoulders and neck, and just drown in it, let himself be given over completely to the feelings coursing through his body.

“Haz,” Louis whines, yelping a little when he nails his prostate, “need to - need to come.”

“Yeah,” Harry pants. “Uh, yeah, babe, just come for me now. So good for me.”

It takes two more strokes for Louis to fly apart, moaning Harry’s name while he comes, and it’s not long after - not that Louis is keeping time or anything, because he’s in this blissful state out of time and sanity and everything - that Harry’s body seizes behind him and he comes too, filling Louis up with wetness and warmth.

He slips out of him, and quickly undoes his blindfold, then Louis rolls over to curl against his chest. He feels so small sometimes, but Harry’s always there, Harry’s always got him, and never lets him go when he needs a good cuddle.

“God,” Louis murmurs when he’s got his words back, “love you, babe.”

“Love you too, beautiful,” Harry whispers back.

Louis thinks his heart might explode.

(At least Harry would be there to put it back together for him.)


End file.
